Welcome to The Light, where we slow down long enough to let meaning find us.
There is a particular grief that hides behind pride. A young woman writes of watching her parents prepare for the mission field, her face bright with love when she speaks of them, and yet somewhere beneath that brightness, a quiet ache she barely lets herself name. Grief does not always announce itself. Sometimes it waits in a song.
From one kind of sacrifice to another, a father on a cruise ship heard that his five-year-old daughter had fallen forty feet into the open ocean. Without hesitation, he jumped. He held her above the water for more than ten minutes until rescue came. There are moments when love does not deliberate. It simply moves.
And then there is the question of words, and who gets to speak freely. On his first day back in office, President Trump signed an order promising to protect the free speech of every American citizen. Reporters and observers note he has since moved, more than once, in the opposite direction. Promises, it seems, are also a kind of speech, and they too carry consequence.
That is this hour's reflection. Carry the light gently.
